Seven Seconds on the Seven Seas

The heavy guns rumbled into position on the swaying deck, the men heaving at the braces with sweat soaking through the cloth they kept wrapped around their ears. One by one the gun ports hinged open like the jaws of an angry dog. All eyes locked upon the merchant vessel off our beam, her tack hard over riding close to the scuppers. The master gunner's voice pierced above the din, directing the crew as they lined up their salvo.

"Tear at the fuckers lads, powder and ball, see you the whites of their eyes, that be your targets!"

This was the din within which the gun crews lived. The din that our characters lived however, was one different and apart. A din within the mind, silent preparation before battle. They were Blackbeard's Marines. They stood stoically by amidships, awaiting warfare of wits and screams. The quartermaster stood beside them with one foot in the shrouds, ready to give the order to board as soon as hooks were thrown and the hulls touched upon the angry brine.

The Marines had rode these seas since they were neck high to the capstan. Standing next to the quartermaster was Jacob, the youngest, he had just turned twenty. He stood taller than most men, and his chest was as broad as a mainsail.

The ships were closing in the smoke, and he glared across the distance between. His eyes pierced their souls, sizing up the resolve of the crew before reaching the range of their muskets.

Beside him, looking altogether bored with the entire process, was Alisha. Her skin was kissed by the sun, and most of it was bare to the sun as well. Today the only items she wore were a thigh length skirt, and the belts that held her two long and curved Kilij swords.

Then there was Edward. At first glance looked skinny, skittish and unfitting with a group of brigands about to board a merchant vessel. But beating in his chest was the heart of a killer. Two dirks, gilded in gold, were all he ever carried, and all he ever needed.

Last of the lot, was Quinn. She was of high birth, daughter of an aristocrat, and always in the finest of clothes, even in the depths of battle. Today she had a deep emerald green sea coat over an ebony doublet, with at least two dozen polished brass buttons upon each. Her thick wool breeches tucked into heavy leather riding boots, altogether appeared unfitting aboard a ship, but she cared not for her surroundings, she dressed for herself and no other. Slung across her chest, were no less than three brace of pistols, with a blunderbuss slung across her back, and a long German musket in her hands.

One by one, the guns roared and bucked backward against their ropes like angry bulls in the chute. The whistle of the balls could be heard for a half a second, before ending in a splash or the sound of crunching wood. It wasn't long before the merchant across the waves responded with a broadside of her own.

Most of her shot fell short at the hands of gunners who were clearly inexperienced. Merchant sailors never drilled for long hours. They were short handed with overworked ships. Pirates on the other hand, had nothing better to do with weeks spent at sea and too many hands aboard for comfort.

As they continued to close, Queen Anne's gunners reloaded and fired two more broadsides to the merchant's one. This gave once more testimony to their lack of combat preparedness, but now the ships were so close that a blind man at the breech could strike the target.

Splinters flew up in the air. Deck railings burst into shrapnel, above balls sung through the rigging and below they thudded into the heavy oak hull. But still the Marines stood, stoic and determined, scowls on faces and hands on hilts. Quinn shouldered her long musket, and plucked a man from the foretops of the merchant, sending him screaming to the deck below. She calmly reloaded while scanning the tops for her next victim.

The hulls of the two ships were nearly touching, and a final blast from Queen Anne's gunners ripped through the rigging and mast of the merchant as she tried to turn quarter. A long creak and groan could be heard over the din of battle, and a cascade of snaps and tears announced the mainmast as it crashed forward. It took the foremast with it and upon landing erupted chaos upon the deck. The pirates sailed abreast her again, hulls once more nearly touching as the captain called out in a booming voice behind the Marines.

"Reef the tops, tackle the guns, cast grapples and board the bastard!"

The quartermaster unsheathed his cutlass, and screamed a yell that could curdle the blood of sharks. Each Marine in turn did the same, with the exception of Quinn, who calmly took the blunderbuss from her back and stowed the rifle in a chest sitting on the deck. She saw the tradition of howling before boarding actions as one unbecoming a woman of station.

The sailors above in the tops worked in a fevered dash to bring in the sail, stalling the Queen Anne's gain on the crippled ship. Each gun crew then split, one man lashing the guns back, and another taking the grappling hooks that were stowed for use, and swinging them off the gunwales in high arcs into the tangled rigging and splinter decking of the merchant vessel.

With sails reefed and guns stowed, the topmen dropped to the deck with flourishes and howls and helped the gun crews haul away on the grapple lines. Inch by inch, heave by heave they hauled the two ships together in a bone jarring crunch.

The quartermaster hopped onto the deck rail, continuing his howling at the enemy, and gave the Marines the signal as the merchant's quarterdeck dipped below the Queen Anne on the rolling sea. One by one, they hauled up to the deck rail, crashing down upon the merchant in a carefully practiced maneuver. As they struck, they each buckled their knees to brace the impact, and rolled back up into a guard as sailors turned from the hopeless effort of cutting loose the crumpled masts and rigging.

The three men closest charged at Quinn, and her blunderbuss exploded in a fiery blast, obscuring the Marines in smoke and turning the three men into bloody rags as they dropped to the deck. Edward disappeared, and launched himself into the remains of the rigging. We could hear the screams and shouts as sailors were killed by dirks in the shadows.

Jacob and Alisha remained in the open space around the helm, where the deck was unmarred by the rigging and spars. Three officers in Spanish dress, stood to face them with fine sea coats and cocked hats, each with a gilded hangar at hand.

Jacob retrieved a large double bit axe that he kept strapped across his back, and Alisha bared her twin kilij swords as the officers charged. Jacob parried the first, letting the blade stick in the handle of the axe, and kicked the man in the chest. His ribs gave a sickening crunch, and he slumped down to the deck.

Alisha flanked the second as he rushed to his friend's aid. His stance dropped into a fencing guard with his arm outstretched prepared for a parry and reposte. But this left him open at the sides. This was not a duel between gentlefolk on a rolling green prairie. Alisha cleaved his hand off at the wrist, and drove her offhand blade into his liver. He slumped over his friend, blood pooling out as he cried in pain before going silent.

The third saw the carnage that awaited him and decided to be less brazen. He set his sword down upon the deck and backed away with his hands above his head. Alisha tucked her swords away and bound him as Jacob stepped to the ladder leading down to the main deck.

Here, Quinn had fired her first pistol into a sailor who charged from behind the capstan with a hatchet. He dropped dead, with a neat hole in his eye. The rest had fled below decks, and barred the hatch behind them. Edward slipped from the shadows, as Jacob, Alisha, and their captive joined her around the sealed hatch. Jacob spoke first.

"The Captain must be below as well, with what, four or five sailors?"

"Agreed. Shall I smoke them out?" Quinn asked, pulling a small sphere from her coat, and plucking it with a knife before shoving a slow match down into the neat hole she had carved.

"Sounds good to me." Alisha agreed, and the three backed away behind the capstan as Quinn walked over to the deck rail.

First, she looked over the side to make sure the gunport was open, then she leaned back, lit the fuse, hung over the side again on her belly, and launched the lit bomb through the gunport. Rolling back to the deck, she sprinted over behind the capstan with the rest, and waited.

A second later, a muffled explosion could be heard below, followed by a cacophony of coughing. Within moments the hatch flew open, followed by an aging man in a delicate lace coat, doubled over in anguish as he struggled to breath. A putrid greenish grey smoke followed out behind him, as well as a trail of four other sailors, doubled over in agony and coughing until their chests spasmed with the exerted effort.

Jacob stepped from behind the capstan and set his axe upon his shoulder, before booming out in a loud voice.

"Set what arms you still be carrying, down upon the deck. Or die."

Nodding in surrender, each of the wheezing men pulled pistols, dirks, and short swords from belts and straps, and placed them upon the deck. Alisha, Quinn and Edward stepped out from behind the capstan, and began the process of tying up each sailor and their elderly captain.

Moments later, after the lot were bound on their knees in a line, a gangplank thudded to the deck. Across the gangplank, Captain Blackbeard marched with slowmatches burning in his tousled wild hair, and a cutlass in each hand.

"Are you sir, the master of this sallow vessel?" He growled at the elderly man bound at Quinns feet. She kicked him to hasten a response. It came in english without hint of a spanish accent. He was from the colonies.

"Aye, that be me, take what you must."

Blackbeard's voice boomed over the deck as he stepped closer and tucked his cutlasses into his thick leather belts.

"I shall take what I wish, and you will tell me the information I seek, or you will find your back scrubbing the hull of this puny fucking wreck." He spat upon the deck as he loomed over the old man. He grabbed his face by the jaw, and tilted it up towards him.

"Tell me where the fleet is."

A long pause hung between the two men as Blackbeard held the gaze. Finally, the old man broke into a sobbing cry.

"They sailed North, we were supposed to rendezvous at the Isle of Fortunado. You should still find them there, three nights from now. Kill me, you must kill me, you cannot send me back to them."

Blackbeard took the man by his throat and hauled him to his feet.

"We do not kill in cold blood. We take what belongs rightfully to the people and not to the crown. We kill those who stand in our way. But we do not kill those who cower upon their knees."

The old man nodded, and Blackbeard motioned us toward the hatch. The toxic smoke had cleared in the time it took for the interrogation, and they were all anxious to find what awaited in the hold below.

Jacob led the way, taking a torch from one of the men who had crossed over with Captain Blackbeard. Alisha took the old man by the arm as Blackbeard released him, and he was pushed along as they descended down the hatch combing. After passing through the gun deck, they came to the hatch leading to the main hold. It was locked with a large iron padlock. The old man supplied a key, and the rusted lock fell away with a heavy thud. Jacob swung the door in before tentatively waving the torch through the hatchway.

Wooden chests lined every side of the hold, stacked from deck to deck, and lined in rows with only just enough room to pass between. Edward pulled one of his dirks and plucked the lid off the nearest chest.

Each one in the hold, was filled to the bursting with silver bars.

It took until dark to hoist the chests over to the Queen Anne's Revenge from the crippled merchant. In that time, the remaining captured crew had been released from their bindings and allowed to dispose of the dead and begin the rigging of jury masts.

When they had finished, the work was lit by lantern and torch, exhaustion on the faces of both crews, but exaltation mixed as well among the pirates. They cut the grapples, and left the merchant to fend for herself among the rolling sea. With her holds emptied, and masts long gone, she bobbed upon the brine in an unsettling way to watch. Her crew would have a tough and miserable time of it, but given equal mercy from nature as Blackbeard had been willing to give, she would make port.

In the meantime, the crew of the Queen Anne turned to drink and music. There was no use in attempting to make way in the dark of the night, and thought needed to be placed upon their heading, so Blackbeard and the senior staff retired to the aft cabin for their charts, brandy, and deliberations.

The rest of the crew remained upon the deck as fiddle players played their tunes and dancing sailors tossed jigs and howled at the moon. The four of the Marines however, slipped away peacefully and quietly down to the gundeck below.

These were Blackbeard's Marines. His elite fighting few who boarded first, hunting for officers and captains. It was never given as order, but generally understood and agreed upon that they did not mingle with the crew. The Marines maintained a mystique, even among those they fought beside, as the ghost of death to be visited upon Blackbeard's enemies.

The aft powder magazine was kept empty, often as a place to lock away prisoners and host interrogations. But tonight the four old friends lounged around it on a circle of cushions and old sailcloth.

"A few nights at sea, collect up the rest of this fleet, and then we should finally be able to make land and away from this rolling hulk." Jacob mused to no one in particular as he took a swig from a bottle of rum. He passed it to Quinn, who drank from it before passing it along and replying.

"Agreed, but what to do for the next three nights? This boredom is murder."

Alisha nodded along with exuberance.

"Tonight we celebrate! We'll take to land as rich, and worry not anymore." She said in a chipper tone that echoed the voices that could be heard above.

"Aye, true it is! So a game to celebrate?" Jacob continued, his excitement beginning to match that of Alisha. Edward answered, with a slightly brooding sense to his reply, but meaning it in as close to earnest joy as he could manage to achieve.

"How about a round of truth and dare?"

Quinn pulled a bottle from behind the pile of sailcloth and sat it on the deck between the four Marines. She then took another swig from the bottle they were passing. They were not nearly as drunk as the sods stomping about on the deck above, but they were all driving hard into their scuppers as the night progressed.

She gave the bottle on the deck a hard spin. It stopped pointing at Alisha.

"Truth or dare Alisha?" She barked out in a grin, and passed her the bottle she was drinking from.

"Truth. Let's start reasonable now."

"Alright, be it as is, Alisha, why do you not wear a damned shirt."

Whenever they had entered battle, she never wore more than a skirt and the straps and belts that held her weapons. Now, unarmed and below decks in the cool night air, she was completely naked above the waist and her nipples poked out stiff as prows. She was wearing her skirt, but nothing underneath, as they all knew from experience.

"Men have chests and women have tits, I wear what's comfortable and fuck the comfort of those I could kill." Alisha bragged with a swaggering sweep of her arms. She continued.

"Pray tell Quinn, why do you wear a whole damnable cavalry tent into battle and bed?"

Quinn replied with a smirk and a dismissal.

"Not your turn to ask, spin the bottle."

Alisha stuck her tongue out, and then spun the bottle. It landed on Jacob.

"Alright, I'll come back to that. Truth or dare Jacob?" Alisha asked.

He gave a mischieous grin before taking a swig from the bottle being passed and answering.

"Dare it'll be for ya."

She gave him a hard look before giving her dare.

"Alright then, I shouldn't be the only one comfortable. Off with your shirt Jacob."

He tipped his head back in laughter and gave Alisha a wink before pulling the thin white shirt over his head and tossing it into the darkness beyond their celebratory circle. His muscular chest and torso was covered in elaborate tattoos, dancing around grisled scars from years of combat.

Sitting back down, he took one more swig of the bottle going around and then spun the bottle on the floor. It landed on Edward.

"Alright lad, truth or dare?"

Edward took a swig of the bottle, gave a surprising grin to everyone around the circle and replied.

"I'll take dare, if you will."

"Alright, remove your shirt as well, keep up the tradition." Jacob answered, and Quinn gave a snort of laughter.

Edward gave no pause, and pulled his dark doublet over his head, tossing it aside with Jacob's. He was thinner than Jacob, and lacking the maze of tattoos and scars. But he was still muscular and hard worn from years at sea.

Having stripped of his shirt, he took the bottle and gave it a hard spin. It landed on Quinn.

"Alright then, truth or dare?" He asked.

"Truth, we've had enough of the same thing passing about." She replied with a smug tip of her chin.

"Fair enough, So why do you wear the exquisite coats and fancy odds and ends?"

"Why, thank you for acknowledging that they are exquisite. But, if I must admit, It is because it gives me a feeling of civilization. Out here on these rough and barbaric seas, I feel civilized when well housed in a fine coat."

A long pause hung over the four, before Jacob broke it.

"That makes no goddamned sense to me." Laughter broke out among the four. A breaking of tension, their differences laid bare, but also a camaraderie amongst them made visible.

Quinn spun the bottle with a flourish and it landed on Alisha.

"And now to return a favor in kind, what will it be then, truth or dare?" Quinn asked.

"Dare." Alisha replied without hesitation.

"Finish the bottle and spend the next round on Jacobs lap." Quinn ordered, handing her the bottle.

Alisha took it with a mischievous smile, tipped it back and drained it. Then, stood and walked to Jacob with as sultry of a saunter as she could muster before sliding down into his lap, caressing his face and neck as she went. He reached around her waist, and she smacked his hand before wiggling her ass into his crotch and bending forward to spin the bottle, pressing herself tightly into him.

The bottle spun, and landed on Quinn.

"Well that's hardly fair!" she exclaimed over the other threes laughter.

"Truth or dare exquisite lady?" Alisha asked.

"Well, first my coat is exquisite and now me. Dare, let's be interesting shall we."

Alisha gave her a stern and calculated look before breaking into a grin and giving her dare.

"You're the only one with clothes above the waist, lets change that shall we? Strip to the waist!"

Quinn glared back before responding, and shrugging her heavy sea coat from her shoulders.

"Oh how original darling, need competition I see."

Quinn stood, and casually began unbuttoning the many brass buttons upon her doublet, an act that whether intentional or not created a great deal of suspense in the air. When she finally finished, she flipped it back over her shoulders with a flourish, and then pulled her crisp white shirt over her head, revealing large beautiful breasts accentuated with light freckles and pale pink nipples that immediately began to harden in the cold evening air. After her grand reveal, she began to feel sheepish, and covered herself casually with one arm.